


An Unexpected Invitation

by MalenkayaCherepakha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Partners, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Ministry Yule Ball, Post-Hogwarts, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha/pseuds/MalenkayaCherepakha
Summary: When Draco's ex is announced as the guest of honour at this year's Ministry Yule Ball, Draco isn't sure he still wants to attend. Harry comes up with a potentially crazy plan to get Draco to go.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 303
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2019





	An Unexpected Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Pineau_Noir for betaing this! Also thanks go to Writcraft for introducing me to the concept of Millie as a tailor - I can’t picture her as anything else now - and for letting me use her in this fic.

The office was quiet, only the scratching of Draco’s quill on his parchment disturbing the silence. Harry was staring intently at a case file, forehead scrunched up as he tried to figure out what the evidence they had collected so far might mean. He’d been stuck on the case for days, and it was starting to drive him slightly mad - nothing added up, and he was no closer to solving it than he had been the day it landed on his desk. 

The sound of several memos swooping in to the office momentarily broke Harry’s concentration, but when he saw that none bore the distinctive purple hue of notes from the magiforensics team, he looked back down at his file, cursing the other team’s slowness. How was he supposed to get anywhere on this case when they were taking their sweet time in analysing the explosion residue?

Draco however had stopped writing at the entry of the memos, the sound of his quill ceasing as he paused to read the messages. Harry paid no attention to this, continuing to consider his case file - if there was anything important in the memos Draco would tell him, especially if it would help with their cases. Despite Harry’s initial reservations, they’d ended up making a good team, Draco far happier dealing with the internal bureaucracy of the Ministry than Harry, which left Harry free to focus on the more practical aspects of solving cases and leaping into danger while Draco ensured that all their activities were at least skirting the edge of the Auror Code of Conduct, if not actively adhering to it. 

‘_Fuck_.’

The uncharacteristic sound of Draco swearing made Harry look up. Draco hardly ever swore - Harry could count on his fingers the number of times he’d heard a swear word escape from Draco during the 10 years they’d been Auror partners - so something dramatic had obviously happened. And yet, when Harry looked over to Draco’s desk, his partner was just sat looking at what seemed to be an invitation. Surely that couldn’t have elicited such a reaction. 

‘What is it?’ Harry asked.

‘The Ministry Yule Ball invitations have arrived,’ Draco said, dropping his and burying his head in his hands. 

Confused at Draco’s reaction, Harry hurried to pull his invitation out of the stack of memos on his desk. The cream card the invitation was printed on was thick and heavy in his hands, an elegant swirling pattern bordering the words:

‘_Dear Mr Potter,_

_You are cordially invited to the annual Yule Ball, a Christmas tradition that the Ministry is proud to be hosting once again. _

_This year the ball will be honouring Monsieur Baptiste Dubois, of the French Ministry of Magic, who has worked tirelessly this year to improve French - British diplomatic relations. _

_The ball will be held at the Hawthorne Estate, with dinner, drinks, and dancing. Formal dress robes are required. _

_Please RSVP at the earliest opportunity. _

_Yours sincerely,_  
_Beatrice Clements_  
_Office of the Minister for Magic’ _

As Harry read, comprehension dawned, and he understood why Draco had reacted so strongly to the invitation, when normally he loved the Yule Ball. Monsieur Baptiste Dubois was Draco’s ex. They’d met when he first came to the UK to work with the Ministry, and Draco had seemed happy for a while - so happy that Harry had found himself jealously wishing he could find the same contentment in a relationship. But then something had happened, Harry didn’t know what, and suddenly they were broken up, and Draco was giving death stares to anyone who so much as mentioned the name Baptiste. 

‘Shit, Draco, I’m sorry,’ Harry said awkwardly. ‘Are you going to go?’

‘I don’t know,’ Draco mumbled, head still firmly in his hands. ‘I suppose I’ll have to - if I don’t everyone will know why, and I won’t have anyone thinking I’m too cowardly to face my ex.’

‘It might be alright, anyway,’ Harry said, clutching at straws as he desperately tried to think of what to say. Talking to people in distress had never been one of his strong suits, and he had been extremely relieved when he realised Draco was far better at it and could therefore take on that role in their work. ‘I suppose he’ll be so busy being the guest of honour and everything that you won’t have to talk to him.’

‘I’m not sure that makes it any better, Potter,’ Draco sighed, finally looking up. ‘He’ll probably turn up with some young model or a famous Quidditch player as his date, and I’ll look a fool.’

Harry opened his mouth to respond, though he didn’t yet know with what - he was hoping the right words would come to him if he started speaking - but was spared by a purple memo flying in to the office and hitting him squarely in the face. All thoughts of the Yule Ball vanished from Harry’s mind as he hurriedly tore open the memo, hoping that it might contain the information needed to solve the case, and even Draco perked up, the frown disappearing from his face as he moved to read the memo over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry didn’t think about the ball for the rest of the day, too caught up in the excitement of finally having a potential lead for his case and then distracted by the busyness of dinner and trying to get three far too awake children into bed. But then, once the children had all finally gone to their rooms and the house fell silent, thoughts of his and Draco’s conversation came rushing back. 

It would be a shame for Draco not to go to the ball - he loved them, and usually spent the weeks running up to it boring Harry to death with talk about the guest list and what he was going to wear, and although Harry didn’t always go, when he had, Draco had always been the life and soul of the party, chatting to anyone and everyone and stealing the spotlight on the dancefloor. Why should his shitty ex get to deprive him of that? And then, as Harry lay in bed, remembering how dejected Draco had looked as he read the invitation, Harry had an idea. 

The next day, the idea was still in the back of Harry’s mind, but the light of day had him questioning whether it was really such a good idea. He debated it with himself all morning, alternating between thinking that he should just go ahead and suggest it to Draco and thinking that it was perhaps the stupidest idea he’d ever had, which was really saying something - he had once stolen a dragon after all. His decision was made for him, however, when he overheard Cyrus and Esther talking about the ball as he and Draco made their way back to their office from the kitchen, steaming mugs of tea clutched tightly in their hands. The others weren’t even saying anything about Draco or Baptiste, wondering idly instead about what theme would be chosen for the decorations this year, but Harry noticed the way Draco’s lips pinched into a thin line, his eyebrows pulling together as they passed the chatting pair. 

The door of their office had barely swung shut behind them when Harry blurted it out.

‘We should go together.’

For a long moment Draco stared at him.

‘What?’ he said finally, just as Harry was considering fleeing the country and never returning. 

‘Uh,’ Harry stalled, wondering whether he could claim he had said something else, before deciding there was no other way to take what he had said. ‘We could go together. To the ball, I mean.’ 

‘And why would we do that?’ Draco said, one eyebrow raised. 

‘Merlin, I don’t know,’ Harry said, shrugging his shoulders and finally moving from the doorway where he had been frozen with worry. ‘Cause you don’t want to go alone and have your ex see you with no date?’ 

‘And why on Earth would that lead to us going together?’

‘I dunno, cause we’re mates and so it won’t be weird, it’s better than finding a stranger to go with just to find out that they’re boring. Everyone will be paying attention to us so your ex will definitely notice, and if he’s as big a prick as he always seemed, then it will definitely bug him to see you with me of all people,’ Harry said, breathless by the end of his sentence.

Draco stared for a moment, eyes widening in surprise, but then his expression turned calculating. 

‘You do make a good point, shockingly,’ he said slowly, Harry making an indignant noise at the casual insult. ‘He did always have a bit of an issue with our friendship, so he would definitely be annoyed if he thought we were dating.’ 

‘Would be nice to give everyone something else to gossip about besides poor Harry Potter, dateless at a ball again too,’ Harry added, eyebrows furrowing as he remembered the endless headlines that had been splashed all over the front page of the _Prophet_ the first few years after his divorce. 

‘Fine,’ Draco said, in a decisive tone, ‘we’ll go together then.’ And then, as though they hadn’t just decided to do something crazy and potentially friendship ruining, Draco turned and went back to work without another word.

* * *

Nothing changed, at least at first. They both replied to their invitations, confirming that they would be attending the ball, and then slipped back into their usual work routine, all consumed by the case that was rapidly reaching its conclusion. They made a good team, their strengths and weaknesses combining to make them one of the most successful teams on the force. Draco was surprisingly on board with Harry’s tendency to bend the rules, and they were often on such a similar wavelength that it was as though they could read each other’s mind. To Harry’s great surprise, not only had they made good partners, they also became great friends, occasional lunches together at work blossoming into drinks in the pub after a hard day, and their friendship had only grown as their sons had become firm friends. They had supported each other through Astoria’s death and the breakdown of Harry’s marriage, the tough times bringing them closer together, and helping them get to a point where the troubles of their early years were forgotten. 

And that was all Harry thought it was, a good friendship and work partnership, solidified through years of shared history. Harry saw no reason why agreeing to be Draco’s date to the ball should change any of that - he was just helping a friend out, nothing more. But then, with just two weeks to go until the ball, Harry had a dream that changed everything. 

He’d been called in to work early that morning as someone had sighted a suspect he’d been searching for, and the arrest and resulting interrogation and paperwork had taken him all day, night firmly set in by the time he managed to escape the Ministry. The kids were still at school, so he’d felt no guilt at eating a shitty meal of leftover pasta and oven chips for a quick dinner in front of the TV, fighting to keep his eyes open with every bite. He’d barely managed to stay awake long enough to have a shower, and was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. 

And then, someone was stroking his hair, brushing the wild curls back from his forehead, their long fingers soft and warm on his skin. Harry could feel their body stretched out next to his, Harry’s face pressed into a toned chest as he dozed. He sighed contentedly, nuzzling his face into the soft skin, smiling as he felt a gentle kiss on his forehead. Eyes still closed against the brightness of the early morning sun, he pulled the other person towards him, tilting his head up for a scorching kiss that quickly turned into something more. The details began to get fuzzy, sensation and feeling overtaking details, but there was no mistaking the blond hair that he was running his fingers through. 

Harry woke up aching, every fibre of his body calling out for Draco’s body, wave after wave of desire rushing over him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Even as the details of the dream began to fade, the feelings it provoked in him remained, a previously unnoticed need for something deeper bubbling up to the surface. All day his hand itched to reach out and touch, the need only growing stronger each time he remembered he couldn’t. Seeing Malfoy was torture, feelings he had never even considered before, suddenly making themselves known through butterflies and shaking hands whenever he looked over at Malfoy. 

The only way Harry could make it through the day was to keep reminding himself that this was temporary, just the lingering effects of the dream making him see things that weren’t really there. He’d had sex dreams before, and had never ended up fancying the people in them, so the chances of it happening this time were so tiny as to not be worth worrying about. It had just been too long since he’d been intimate with anyone, and Draco was an attractive man who he spent nearly every day with - it made sense that he would be the focus of Harry’s dream, especially now that they were pretending to go on a date together. It meant nothing more. 

But Harry’s newfound feelings didn’t fade. He found himself watching Draco even more than he usually did, his eyes drawn to his hands as he wrote case notes or to the way his hair would gradually become messier and curlier as the day wore on, cataloguing all these little secret details about Draco that he’d hardly noticed before. It was making work difficult - Harry felt constantly on edge, even the most innocent action from Draco enough to make heat rush through Harry’s veins, any tiny contact they had as they handed each other case files or brushed past one another in the corridor making Harry’s nerves scream with want. Draco, thankfully, seemed completely oblivious to Harry’s inner turmoil. As the ball drew ever closer, he started badgering Harry about what he was planning to wear, wanting to know the exact colour of Harry’s dress robes, so he could make sure his didn’t clash. 

‘After all, Potter, no one will ever believe that we’re a real couple if our robes don’t work together,’ Draco said one day as they had a tea break. 

‘Um, yeah, sure,’ Harry agreed absentmindedly, distracted by the way Draco’s throat moved as he drank his tea. 

‘So, are you going to tell me what colour yours are then?’ Draco said, exasperated. 

‘Oh, well, I have a green pair,’ Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the curve of Draco’s collarbone, just peeking out from under his shirt. ‘But they are a bit old, I suppose. And I think Lily spilled pasta sauce on them last time I wore them.’

‘Merlin, Potter, is that the last time you wore dress robes? I remember that ball - who knows what compelled the organisers to think that inviting children was a good idea - and it was years ago! Have you seriously not bought any new robes since then?’

‘No?’ 

‘Right. We’re going shopping. Tomorrow, after work.’ When Harry opened his mouth to argue, Draco cut him off; ‘No boyfriend of mine will be seen in stained robes, Potter.’

When Harry choked on his biscuit, the word ‘boyfriend’ echoing in his brain, Draco only laughed. 

The weather was grim the next day, endless grey drizzle cloaking the city in a shroud of mist, a sea of umbrellas surrounding Harry as he walked from the Ministry to Diagon Alley. He could have Apparated to avoid the rain - Draco had, shaking his head and muttering about Harry being completely incomprehensible as he went - but he had wanted the walk to clear his head and, if he was honest, to delay what he was about to do. All day Draco had been chatting about the tailor they were going to visit, ‘a genius with fabric’ apparently, who would make Harry the best dress robes he’d ever own. Draco was extremely excited; Harry was extremely nervous. Buying robes together, letting Draco have input into what he wore, and maybe even watch him try them on, seemed far too intimate to Harry. But there was no way he was getting out of it, however long he dawdled on the damp streets of London so, steeling himself, he entered the Leaky Cauldron. 

Draco had given Harry explicit instructions to meet him at a shop called _Chartreux Designs_, and after only a few minutes of searching, Harry stopped in front of the shop and looked through the bay window to see if he could spot Draco. Three mannequins blocked his view, each sporting dress robes that even Harry, with his distinct lack of interest in clothes, could tell were of an extremely high quality. His spirits started to lift slightly - clearly this tailor knew what they were doing. 

The bell above the door rang as Harry let himself into the shop, sighing as a wave of warmth passed over him, his exposed hands thankful for the reprieve from the cold outside. At the sound of the bell, Draco walked out of a back room.

‘Oh good, you’re finally here,’ he said, gesturing at Harry to come into the other room. ‘Merlin knows why you would want to walk, it’s horrible out there.’

Draco chatted away about the weather, the cold and the early sunsets as Harry walked in to the back room, letting Draco’s comments wash over him as he looked round, taking in the shop. The front room was lined with clothes rails, displaying a huge range of clothing, from formal robes and dresses to warm looking tailored coats and some tiny children’s outfits in the softest, brightest fabric. The backroom was a different story. Clearly this was where the bespoke pieces were created. Large mirrors lined three of the walls, with the fourth covered in shelves containing more fabric than Harry had ever seen in his life. There were so many colours, some shimmering with a faint glow of magic, and so many textures, Harry’s fingers itching to run across them to see if they felt as wonderful as they looked. But before he could go over and explore, a voice broke him out of his contemplation of the shelves. 

‘Hello, Harry, welcome to Chartreux Designs.’

Turning round, Harry saw Millicent Bulstrode, clad in a deep green suit, a smile on her face as she watched Harry take in the shop. Harry felt some of the tension drain out of him at the sight of her, the tight muscles in his shoulders loosening and the butterflies in his stomach floating away. He’d known that Millie had set up as a tailor after the war - Draco often talked proudly about her work, and Ginny and Luna had both had dresses made by her, and Harry couldn’t believe he hadn’t put together that Millie was the tailor they were going to. Draco would never go to anyone else.

‘So, Harry,’ Millie said, gesturing for him to stand in the centre of the room. ‘I hear you’ve offered to take Draco to the ball?’

‘Uh, yeah. Baptiste is going to be there, so…’

‘Yes, well, the less said about him the better,’ Millie said, her nose screwed up in apparent distaste. ‘I imagine Draco’s been nagging you about your robes? I know what he’s like, and he’s going to want this to be perfect after waiting such a-’

‘Yes, Millie, thank you,’ Draco burst in, cutting her off abruptly. 

A small smile on her face, Millie shook her head at Draco, before turning and walking over to the shelves and pulling out several different materials. 

‘What do you think of these?’ She held the fabrics out to Harry, letting him touch them, feel the silky softness. 

‘They’re beautiful,’ Harry said honestly. 

‘Any thoughts on colour?’ Millie continued, her voice becoming more businesslike as she slipped into work mode.

‘Not really.’

‘What about this?’ Draco said, bringing another fabric up to them and holding it up against Harry’s chest. ‘The colour would go with my robes.’

And then the room became a whirlwind of activity, Harry standing stock still in the middle as Draco and Milllie debated colours and cloth and cuts. Harry let them talk, recognising that this was by no means his area of expertise, his mind wandering as they began to discuss the differences between two seemingly identical colours. It was strange, really, Harry thought, how comfortable he felt standing there, with two Slytherins discussing how best to show off his trim Auror figure to most annoy Draco Malfoy’s ex boyfriend, of all people. Before today, he had never even set foot in a tailor’s, but he was actually quite enjoying himself, and found himself soaking up the different terms they used, learning more about the world that Draco and Millie were so clearly comfortable in. He was starting to understand why Draco was always so happy the day after he had been to see Millie for a new suit. 

Harry’s comfort levels took a turn for the worse, however, when Millie clapped her hands and announced that it was time for Harry to try on some robes that were already made, so she could see how the fabric worked with his body. Popping out into the front of the shop, she returned bearing armfuls of robes and suits, handing the first one, a set of dark blue dress robes, to Harry to try on.

‘You want me to try this on now?’ 

‘Yes, please, Harry,’ Millie confirmed, placing the other outfits on a chair in the corner of the room. 

‘OK,’ Harry said, hands coming to the hem of his t-shirt ready to pull it off. ‘Can you, um, turn around?’ he added, noticing Draco still stood nearby, his eyes on Harry. 

Once they had done as requested, Harry quickly stripped off his clothes, his butterflies returning with a vengeance at just the thought of being in his boxers in the same room as Draco. He put on the dress robes, the fiddly buttons taking a few minutes to do up, before turning to the mirrors and clearing his throat to let Millie know he was ready. Millie immediately moved over and began fussing with the fabric, shifting it around and adjusting where it sat on Harry’s shoulders, a tape measure appearing from nowhere to measure the length of his arm and his waist, but Harry barely noticed any of it. He couldn’t drag his attention away from Draco, who was staring at Harry, his eyes slowly, leisurely trailing down Harry’s body, Harry’s nerves alighting wherever Draco’s gaze touched. Draco’s mouth was slightly open, as if in shock, and his pupils were wide, the heat in them making Harry’s blood boil. Draco had clearly not noticed Harry looking, and Harry found himself wondering whether he’d missed gazes like this before. He’d only just had his eyes opened to the possibility of an attraction between them, but had Draco been aware of it for much, much longer? 

Millie snapped them both out of their thoughts by handing Harry a new outfit to try on, and the whole process repeated again, Harry keenly aware of Draco’s eyes on him as he modelled each outfit for Millie. It was getting increasingly harder to keep himself under control, to focus on the clothes and the questions Millie was asking him about fit and comfort, when all he could think about was the way Draco had been looking at him. 

It only got worse when Harry was changing out of the last set of dress robes. He was exhausted, his nerves frayed from so much time spent with Draco in such an intimate setting, and he was more than ready to escape home to a quiet bedroom where he could sink into the memories of Draco’s eyes on him. Harry pulled the final set of dress robes off over his head, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight boxers, and bent down to pick his jeans up off the floor. As he straightened up again, Harry looked into the mirror, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Draco’s face reflected back at him. Draco was supposed to be facing the other way, but instead he was looking at Harry, naked want written in every line of his face. As Harry stood up fully, Draco’s eyes snapped up, away from Harry’s body, and their eyes met in the mirror, Draco’s widening in shock as he realised Harry had seen him. Harry didn’t look away, instead smiling slightly, hoping to convey to Draco that it was okay, that he didn’t mind. He didn’t try to hide the effect Draco’s interest was having on him and he felt heat rush through him as he saw the exact moment Draco noticed, Draco’s sharp intake of breath visible even from a distance. They stood for a long moment, eyes locked on each other’s through the mirror, letting the tension build, the unspoken interest suddenly out in the open, and Harry thought that he’d never felt anything so incredible in his life. 

The sound of Millie shuffling in place brought them back to earth, Harry suddenly remembering where he was. His face flushing, he hurriedly pulled on his clothes, adjusting himself to hide the effect Draco had had on him, before turning to face Millie. He thanked her profusely for her help, and confirmed when he would come for his next fitting. He didn’t say anything to Draco. It was cowardly, and he knew it, but he felt raw, exposed, and like he might break if they had to acknowledge what had passed between them. Instead, he muttered some vague excuse about being late for dinner, and quickly left the shop, Apparating home as soon as he could. 

By unspoken agreement, neither of them mentioned what had happened in Millie’s shop the next day. Their interactions for the first hour of the day were slightly stilted, tender, uncertain, as they tried to carefully tiptoe around the new dynamic between them. Harry was beginning to worry, scared that he had ruined a valuable friendship, but then they got swept up in work, and as they discussed potential theories on their latest case, the tension melted away. Harry couldn’t completely ignore the new dynamic between them, but over the following few days he grew used to it, and found himself enjoying the excitement and nerves of having a crush, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He didn’t feel the need to do anything about it; it was enough to simply spend time in the same place as Draco, occasionally catching his eye and letting the butterflies fill his stomach, returning home every evening with a mind full of Draco and nothing else, each night drifting off to sleep to imagined scenarios of Draco in bed next to him.

* * *

When the day of the ball finally arrived, they still hadn’t discussed it, instead still clinging to the fallacy that Harry was just taking Draco to the ball as a favour to a friend, nothing more. They both left work early on the day, having agreed that they would get ready separately and then meet at the country house where the ball was being held. All day Harry had been a bundle of nerves, unable to focus on work for thinking and worrying about the ball, barely able to eat anything thanks to the pit of worry in his stomach. He had no idea how he was supposed to hold it together while pretending to be madly in love with Draco. 

The robes Millie had made for him had been hanging in his wardrobe for several days, layers of protective spells surrounding them to ensure that they were still in pristine condition for the ball. With shaking hands he took them out and slowly put them on, marvelling at the wonder that Millie had created. He’d never had such well fitting robes - they clung to his frame without being indecent or overly showy, and still allowed him to move freely, not too baggy or constricting like some of his old robes. The material was soft and silky, and he let it run through his fingers, enjoying the way it felt. After much debate, they’d decided on a deep navy blue, with intricate silver stitching and small silver buttons down the front, and despite his initial misgivings about wearing something so fancy, Harry had never felt more himself. After desperately trying, and failing, to control his hair, Harry was ready. He had one last look in the mirror, trying to imagine how he would look through Draco’s eyes, and then took a deep breath, steeling himself, before leaving his house and apparating to the manor. 

He appeared on a gravel pathway leading up to a large, beautiful country house, the facade lit up and the pathway illuminated by small flickering candles. A slow trickle of people passed him, couples arm in arm dressed in their finest, all chatting excitedly as they made their way into the ball. Harry’s nerves only increased at the sight, as the reality of what he was about to do hit him. All night he was going to have to pretend to be in a relationship with Draco, while trying to hide that he desperately wished he was. This was the stupidest idea he’d ever had. He was on the verge of just giving it up as a bad job and running away to hide at home, when a crack announced Draco’s arrival. It was even worse than Harry had imagined. Draco looked - well, he looked incredible. He’d adamantly refused to tell Harry what Millie was making for him to wear, so Harry wasn’t even slightly prepared for what he saw. Draco was wearing icy platinum robes that perfectly complemented his pale skin and hair, and the way the robes fitted him - Merlin, if Harry hadn’t wanted him already, he definitely would now. 

‘What do you think?’ Draco asked, an uncharacteristic nervousness evident in his voice. 

‘Um, yeah, good,’ Harry said, his voice rough.

‘Enough to make Baptiste jealous, do you think?’ 

‘Definitely,’ Harry said. ‘Come on then, let’s get this over with,’ he added, nodding his head towards the entrance to the house. 

‘Charming as ever, Potter, no wonder you don’t normally bring a date to this kind of thing,’ Draco laughed, before starting up the path to the house. 

After presenting their invitations at the door, Harry and Draco walked into a large entrance hall. It was grand, with an intricately painted ceiling and gold accents everywhere, waiters standing ready to offer glasses of champagne as soon as they were past the front door, which Harry gratefully took, ignoring Draco’s look of disapproval at the speed he drank it. The hall led into a large ballroom, an orchestra already playing, the music soaring over the conversations of the guests mingling on the dancefloor. A few people were dancing already, dresses sweeping the floor as they twirled. The room had been decorated for Christmas, and flakes of enchanted snow, charmed to never melt and not be cold, drifted down from the ceiling, settling on the shoulders of Harry’s robes, lingering for several seconds before disappearing without a trace. It was beautiful, and almost unbearably romantic. 

‘I suppose we’d better make the rounds,’ Draco sighed.

Harry shot him a confused look - Draco normally loved socialising at these events, working the room like a seasoned professional. Draco caught Harry’s expression, and explained.

‘The more we talk to people, the more likely it is that we’ll be found out,’ he said, the exasperation in his voice making it clear that Harry really should have thought of this already. 

‘It’ll be fine, we’ll just change the subject if something comes up that we’re not sure about,’ Harry said. ‘Come on, let’s get it over with.’

They spent the next half an hour dutifully chatting to various Ministry workers, sidestepping questions about their relationship as much as they possibly could. When pressed, Draco shocked Harry by coming up with an impressively detailed story about the origin of their relationship, featuring long nights at the office, lingering glances over pints in the pub, the euphoria of chasing down a criminal leading to a spur of the moment kiss. Draco made it sound so real, every detail so firmly rooted in their actual relationship, that for a minute even Harry was taken in. He could just picture that moment at the end of a fight with a suspect where the adrenaline and the relief is so high that he feels like he could take on the world, when even pressing your former enemy and work partner up against the wall and kissing them until you both fall apart doesn’t seem like the most insane idea in the world. His heart ached for wishing that Draco was telling the truth, and Draco reaching down to link their fingers as he recounted the story only made it worse. 

In need of a break, Harry muttered an excuse about going to the bar for more drinks, leaving Draco with the Head Unspeakable, the two of them starting a complex discussion on magical theory before Harry was even out of earshot. Harry had no idea how Draco did it, this endless small talk with boring Ministry officials. Even half an hour of it had Harry wanting to tear his hair out with boredom - how many times could they discuss the latest internal policy change?! He lingered at the bar long after his pint was poured, slowly sipping at the drink while looking around the room. Everyone was dressed to the nines, some even employing the latest spells to cause their dresses to sparkle as though real fairies were floating around them, but despite all the people around him, his eyes kept returning to Draco. Harry was gone, so gone.

Draco made his way back over to Harry in time for the speeches to start, and as the presenter introduced Draco’s ex with a long list of all his accomplishments, Harry reached down and took Draco’s hand once again, his heart beating out of his chest as he did so, terrified that Draco would reject it. But Draco didn’t, the frown that had appeared on his face when his ex took to the stage being replaced by a small, private smile that made Harry’s heart leap with joy. Harry didn’t even listen to Baptiste’s speech, too focused on the warmth of Draco’s palm against his to care what he was saying. Harry was taken by surprise when suddenly Draco started tugging on his hand, dragging Harry onto the dancefloor.

‘What are you doing?’ Harry whispered, confused after being jolted from his contemplation of the feel of Draco’s knuckles. 

‘The speeches are over, it’s time to dance,’ Draco said, voice low so as to not be overheard by the nearby couples. ‘You do know how to dance, yes?’

‘Eh-,’ Harry fudged, before being cut off by the rising swell of the music as the orchestra started to play once again. 

They ended up in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded on all sides by couples dancing to the music. Harry’s heart went into overdrive as he realised that he would have to hold Draco and dance close together like them. Draco took the lead, placing a hand on Harry’s waist and moving them into a dancing hold, the spots where they were in contact with each other burning with awareness. Harry let Draco guide them, trying to keep up with the steps even while his brain was completely distracted by their proximity. He was just about surviving, and had only stood on Draco’s feet two or three times, but then the music changed, slowing down. In turn, their movements slowed, Draco pulling Harry closer seemingly on a reflex, until their chests were nearly touching. Harry had never been so aware of such a small amount of space.

They were moving slowly now, even Draco having given up on the fancy steps, instead just leading Harry in a slow circle. There was nowhere for Harry to look other that at Draco, his previous need to watch his feet gone thanks to their slow pace. Draco was watching Harry too, and as their eyes met, Harry felt a jolt in his stomach. Neither of them looked away, and the couples dancing around them faded into the distance as Harry stared into Draco’s eyes. When Draco’s gaze flicked down to Harry’s lips, Harry was done for. 

‘Come with me,’ he blurted, turning to stride off the dancefloor before he could stop and talk himself out of what he was about to do.

Harry pushed through the crowds of people, not turning back to see if Draco was following him, exiting the ballroom and walking up the ornate staircase in the entrance hall. After trying a few doors, Harry found one that swung open, letting him in to a small sitting room, tastefully decorated and slightly less formal than the rest of the house, three vintage looking sofas arranged around a glass coffee table. Harry walked over to the large windows that overlooked the grounds, listening to the sound of Draco’s footsteps following him into the room. 

‘Shut the door,’ Harry said, turning round to look at Draco, his heart racing as he prepared to risk everything. 

‘What’s going on, Harry?’ Draco said once the door was firmly shut. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Not really,’ Harry said.

‘What’s wrong?’ Draco said, moving closer so that he was stood within arm’s reach of Harry. 

‘I’m going to do something, and it might wreck everything, or-,’ Harry trailed off.

‘Or?’

‘Or it might be the best thing I’ve ever done.’

And with that, Harry took a deep breath and closed the distance between them, his hands coming to cup Draco’s face as he kissed him. Draco froze for a second, and Harry was about to pull away, convinced he had completely misread everything, made a terrible mistake, but then Draco was moving, his arms wrapping around Harry’s waist as he began to kiss Harry back. A groan escaped Harry as Draco’s mouth opened, the kiss deepening and leaving Harry’s head spinning with desire. 

Draco seemed to be just as into it as Harry, as he pulled Harry in even tighter, every inch of their bodies pressing together, heat rushing through Harry as he felt just how much Draco was enjoying this. Without breaking the kiss, Harry slowly walked them backwards until they hit one of the sofas, pushing Draco down until he was lying on his back, Harry quickly covering him, unwilling to lose contact for any longer than necessary. Harry’s hips involuntarily began to move, chasing the friction his body was craving. The room filled with the sounds of them gasping into each other’s mouths as they moved together, the feel of Draco’s body against his so incredible, but not nearly enough for Harry. 

Desperately, Harry fumbled with Draco’s robes, shifting them the side enough that he could free Draco’s cock, Draco’s moan at the contact sending a shiver of pleasure through Harry. Harry continued to thrust against the hard muscles of Draco’s thigh, the pressure delicious on his aching prick, as he began to stroke Draco, his eyes locked on Draco’s face and the way it was contorted with pleasure. Harry had never seen something so incredible, Draco’s face so open and his gaze so full of heat as he looked back at Harry. Harry knew he wouldn’t last long, even just frotting against Draco was more than he could handle, and when Draco pulled Harry’s face down and kissed him, hard, Harry was done for. He groaned into Draco’s mouth as he spilled in his trousers, Draco following suit and coming over Harry’s hand. 

It was the best sex of Harry’s life, and it took him several minutes to come back to earth, listening to Draco’s breathing slow as aftershocks racked his body. The faint sounds of the orchestra could be heard from below, reminding Harry of where they were, how easily someone could discover them in such a compromising position. He didn’t want to move, reluctant to move away from Draco, not wanting to stop touching him, but Draco was shifting underneath him now, so Harry sighed and stood up, spelling them both clean and praying that his robes weren’t ruined beyond repair. Once they were both less dishevelled, Harry turned to Draco, wanting to know where they stood now but worried about what Draco might say. Luckily for Harry, Draco broke the silence first. 

‘Are you particularly keen to go back downstairs for more awkward small talk or would you rather go?’

‘Go, definitely,’ Harry said. ‘If we’re going together, that is?’ he added hesitantly.

‘Of course,’ Draco said, reaching out and taking Harry’s hand, leading him down the stairs and out into the garden, the two of them walking side by side down the candle-lined path before vanishing into thin air, still hand-in-hand.


End file.
